Chapter 35| Try Hards With Skills

Chapter 35: Chapter 35| Try Hards With Skills

"Third match," the commentator said. "011 — Carter, Trace versus 034 — Maren, Cass. C-rank versus C-rank. Let’s see what we’ve got." He paused. "And I have to say. We’ve been getting a lot of C-ranks today. Where are the prodigies? The crowd wants to see some fireworks, people. Let’s see what this duo got".

Maren walked onto the floor the way she walked into the training grounds every morning. No bag this time. Just her in her training gear, hair tied, expression doing its quiet calculation. Her opponent Trace Carter was C-rank. Broad shouldered, strong output type, the kind of build that suggested he’d been training his Sigil for raw power rather than technique.

"And we’re underway. Carter activates first. Force output sigil, strong initial burst. Maren holds her ground."

The match lasted six minutes.

Not because Maren was struggling. Because she was precise rather than fast. She didn’t end fights quickly, she ended them cleanly.

"Maren activating now — Overdrive, and you can see the speed differential immediately. She’s not going straight at him. She’s circling. Patient."

Carter fired three strong output bursts. Maren sidestepped each one with the efficiency of someone who had already mapped his activation pattern by the second rep.

"Carter is burning output trying to track her movement. She’s not giving him a clean angle."

Overdrive chain activation exactly the way she’d developed it over three weeks of 6:20 AM sessions. Cut before the fatigue window. Re-engage. No wasted output. Her opponent kept firing expecting a power surge and kept getting controlled efficiency instead.

By the fifth minute Carter was visibly taxing.

"Carter is slowing down. The output bursts are smaller now. Maren has been managing his stamina this whole time without him realising it."

Sixth minute. Obi activated one last time with everything he had left.

Maren stepped inside it.

One contact point. Overdrive at full chain output. Clean decisive strike that dropped him to one knee.

He tapped out.

"And Maren advances. Six minutes of controlled precision against a strong output opponent. She never let him set the pace. Impressive tactical display from the first year."

She walked off the floor without looking at the rail.

The observation rail was quiet when she left.

Zane watched her go.

The observation rail was quiet when she left.

Zane watched her go.

’That’s my girl,’ he thought. ’Knew you could do it.’

Nyx’s match ran fourth.

"Fourth match," the commentator said. "And here we go. This is what the crowd has been waiting for. 002 — Hale, Nyx versus 027 — Brennan, Cole. B-rank versus B-rank. First year versus first year. Ladies and gentlemen the prodigies have arrived."

The arena energy shifted the moment Nyx walked onto the floor. Not dramatically. Just the specific atmospheric change that happened when someone whose reputation had preceded them into the room finally showed up in person.

Her opponent Cole Brennan was B-rank. Tall, broad, the kind of build that suggested his Sigil was force adjacent. He took his position across the floor with the composed focus of someone who knew this was the hardest match he’d get in Round One and had prepared accordingly.

"Both students are B-rank first years," the commentator said, dropping his voice slightly. "Four B-ranks in this intake class and only two have fought so far. Castellan earlier and now Hale. And let’s not forget we still have an A-rank first year yet to step on this floor. But right now. This is the match of Round One. No question."

They faced each other.

The match started.

"And Brennan activates first — Titan Fist, and you can see the output concentration immediately. His fists are carrying serious mass behind them. Hale holds her ground. She’s reading him."

Brennan closed the distance fast. Not a range fighter. He needed contact. His Titan Fist Sigil concentrated mass into each strike, multiplying impact force dramatically. One clean hit would end most opponents regardless of rank.

Nyx didn’t move like she was under pressure. She moved like she was taking notes.

"Hale activating now — Kinetic Force, and the first exchange. Brennan’s strike deflected mid-swing. She redirected it. His own momentum turned against him."

The crowd on the rail pulled forward.

Brennan pushed again. The second attempt was faster this time, feinting left before driving right, trying to get inside her redirect window.

"Second exchange — deflected again. Brennan is adapting but Hale is two steps ahead. She’s not blocking. She’s redirecting. There’s a significant difference."

Nyx ran her Kinetic Force Sigil at what Zane estimated was 70% output. Controlled. Precise. The specific efficiency of someone who didn’t need to show her ceiling to end a fight.

"Third exchange incoming. Brennan commits everything..."

Brennan drove forward with everything he had. Both fists loaded. Full Titan Fist output behind the swing.

Nyx sidestepped it cleanly.

One hand caught his wrist at the apex of the swing.

She redirected the entire force of the strike back through his own arm.

The recoil drove Brennan into the arena floor face first. He hit hard. Stayed down for three seconds.

The referee called it.

"Hale wins. Three minutes. Dominant from start to finish. Ladies and gentlemen. That is what a B-rank first year looks like when she’s not even trying hard."

The rail erupted.

Nyx walked off the floor without looking at the rail.

Zane watched her go.

’70% output,’ he thought. ’And she still had ceiling left.’

’Completely his type,’ he thought. ’Which remains a significant problem.’

Somehow, he still hadn’t figured out how she managed it. Even in the tight training gear, her curves were impossible to ignore, her big boobs bouncing noticeably with every exchange as they moved.

She walked onto the floor and the arena’s energy shifted slightly the way it always did around someone whose reputation had preceded them into the room.

Her opponent was B-rank. One of four B-rank first years in the intake class and the only one outside Nyx and Ryan who hadn’t fought yet. The crowd on the rails understood what that meant and pulled its attention forward.

The match had lasted three minutes.

Zane watched her go.

Then the display above Arena Two updated.

007 — CALLOWAY, ZANE vs 031 —

Finally his bracket. 2:15 PM.

He checked the time. 2:08 PM.

Seven minutes.

He pushed off the rail.

"Heading down," he said.

Dex didn’t look away from the arena floor. Just raised one fist briefly without turning around.

Sera glanced over. Held his gaze for exactly one second.

Said nothing.

That was enough.

Zane left the observation rail and walked toward the Arena Two corridor.

Seven minutes.

Everything he’d built sitting in his hands.

Time to find out if it was enough.